


Extension of Mind

by beautifuldaydreams



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Remembers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post CA:TWS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-27 00:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6261118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifuldaydreams/pseuds/beautifuldaydreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine person A lightly tracing “I love you” over and over again on person B’s back, assuming that person B is asleep. When person A is lying on their back, getting ready to sleep, person B moves closer and wraps their arms around person A, whispering softly “I love you too.” Bonus if that’s the first time person A has ever declare their love for person B.</p>
<p>Bucky has nightmares and Steve comforts him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extension of Mind

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first published work in this fandom (because Civil War is killing me already). Yay! This is also me procrastinating my other fic and my theatre coursework. Not yay!  
> I am uploading this straight away, so I don't chicken out.  
> Merci beaucoup to otpprompts for the prompt.  
> Not beta'd, so I can only apologise for my grammar.  
> I own nothing except the mistakes.  
> N.B: I do not have PTSD or nightmares (like this anyway) and I'm not American, so please take any and all descriptions with a pinch of salt. :)

It had just been one of those nights where The Soldier, that ever-present part of Bucky, had woken from its sleep. Over the months since he had allowed Steve to find him and bring him back to the Tower, The Soldier had become quieter, less likely to wake and, at best, cause nightmares, or at worst, cause Bucky to attack whoever was unlucky enough to startle him. These last few weeks had been the best yet, as, while Bucky still had issues concerning his time as The Soldier, the flashbacks, the blind panic became rarer and rarer, until only the nightmares and the PTSD remained.

The worst thing about the nightmares was that they knew. They knew when Bucky started to not only accept, but care about the people he shared the Tower with. After a morning voluntarily going for a run followed by coffee and a chat with Sam, the night was spend ripping The Falcon’s wings off. After a sparring session with Natasha that left them lying on the floor, unable to fight for laughing, his impromptu nap on the couch ended with the Widow bleeding out from a bullet wound in her stomach. Slowly, as he began to trust the people around him more and more, the worse the nightmares got. Throwing off cliffs became snapping necks. Bullet wounds became dismembered limbs.

One night, after a particularly bad one involving Clint and the shooting range, Bucky couldn’t take it anymore. He retreated to the one person the nightmares had never touched, could never touch. Maybe it was because of the connection to the past, maybe because he had endured every nightmare he could during his time with Hydra, but Steve never featured.

The hallway was dark, and the only sounds were the far away movements of some other nightmare haunted soul and Steve’s breathing.

The door creaked slightly. Bucky made a mental note to oil it.

Steve stirred.

“Buck?” His voice was sleep soft and fuzzy at the edges.

“Can I…” he gestured to the bed.

“Was it a nightmare?” Bucky padded across the floor and slid in next to Steve.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not now. Not yet.”

He melted into the soft warmth of the bed, and felt one arm drop gently over his waist, with all the solid warmth of Steve behind him. It felt safe, home, familiar.

“Did we do this often, Stevie?”

“Share a bed? Yes. After Ma died we shared a bed for almost a month, otherwise I couldn’t sleep. I blamed myself for her passing, and you helped.”

There was a pause where Bucky closed his eyes and remembered. A tiny bed, with thin covers, in a draughty room. Pointy elbows and cold feet digging into his sides and between his calves. Dry sobs and rasping breath.

“I’m sorry”

“What for?”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. For losing your Ma? For not remembering? For disturbing your sleep?

“Just so you know,” Steve whispered into his hair, “I don’t blame you. For anything. Not what you did when you were brainwashed. Not your nightmares. Not for not remembering. I can’t blame you for things you had, or have, no control over. Remember things in your own time. Remember that whenever you have a nightmare, and you will keep having them, no matter how long you live you will keep having them, I will be here, if you want me to be, when you want me to be.”

There was silence for a few minutes.

“Thank you, Steve.”

~*~

That night seemed to open the floodgates. Memories from before came rushing back. Steve with bruised knuckles and a cut face, sitting on the table as Sarah fussed over him. His sisters playing in the street, worn dresses, bright hair and laughter. Steve lying in bed, pale and coughing, worry filling the house like a heavy fog. Dum-Dum and Gabe singing, loud and drunk, around a campfire. Steve, sat on the edge of a mountain, the snowy woods behind him petering out into snow and mud fields, the rising sun turning his hair and the snow to melted gold.

He remembered sights, thoughts, feelings. He remembered the girls, the boys, Steve. Steve, always Steve. With his sunlight hair and summer sky eyes. Too narrow. Wrists and ankles like a child. Ribs showing, hip bones. Chapped lips and a smile brighter than sunshine. Steve with his broad shoulders, slim hips and shield. Mouth smiled less, eyes smiled more. Golden in the firelight, golden in the sunrise.

His first love.

And his last.

The nightmares were worse after the realisation.

Steve lying dead in the ice. Steve looking at him with betrayal in his eyes as The Soldier filled his body with bullets. Steve’s neck snapping in his hands. A choked off “Buck…”

He woke up screaming.

~*~

“Bucky? Buck, come on, wake up. Breathe with me.”

Soft hands held him. Gentle, loving, caring. Holding him in the warmth, the safety. The Soldier was gone.

“Steve? Stevie, I…”

“Shhh, Bucky, you’re fine, I’m fine. Just relax.”

Bucky allowed himself to be gently manhandled, so he was draped across Steve’s chest, surrounded by his warmth, his smell.

Only then did he let himself cry. He cried for all those he killed. Willingly or unwillingly. As a soldier or The Soldier. He cried for his parents, his sisters, who he never saw grow up, grow old. He cried for his team-mates, for their pain, for their suffering. He cried for Steve, for the pain of losing his friends, for his unfailing kindness, even though the world should have made him bitter. For the small, sickly boy from Brooklyn, who still lived inside the body of Captain America.

And through it all, Steve held him. And when he stopped crying, he didn’t ask, he just held.

Bucky listened to the strong heartbeat in his ear, and stroked the soft fabric of the worn shirt, softer than skin. His fingers traced the words that beat in his heart, but got lost between his heart and his mouth.

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

Over and over…

_I love you._

…until it became a pattern…

_I love you._

...an extension of his mind.

_I love you._

Steve slid down…

_I love you._

…held him close…

_I love you._

…kissed his lips.

_I love you._

_I love you, too, Bucky._

**Author's Note:**

> So this is me trying out new writing styles. Whatcha think? Let me know either in the comments or on [my writing blog](daydreams-beautiful.tumblr.com) for more of my (not very frequent) work or just come and cry over Civil War with me on [tumblr](a-single-dream-is.tumblr.com)


End file.
